Chapter Nineteen
Beau pressed the accelerator on his truck, pushing the vehicle as fast as he could down the muddy road. “The storm is slacking off some,” he said, hoping to reassure Sabine, who sat rigid on the passenger’s seat.
“What if the bridge is out now? What if we’re too late? What if he gets to Mildred?”
“Stay calm, Sabine. Mildred is still in the hospital, and Maryse was going to be there with her. It’s not like she’s alone, by any stretch. And maybe we’re wrong about all of this.”
“Mildred was firstborn. That must be important or Catherine wouldn’t have mentioned it to me. As their attorney, Martin would know just how important it was. I’d bet he’s been stalking the family his entire life, waiting for a chance to claim his rights.”
“So why wait? Catherine would have paid him plenty to go away.”
“I think…I know it sounds strange, but I don’t think it was just about the money. I think it was about being a Fortescue. And if we assume Martin didn’t know William was actually Lloyd, then the only way that would happen is if William admitted to an affair before he married Catherine.”
“And since Martin knew Catherine, he knew that would never happen,” Beau finished. “So he was biding his time thinking that when they passed, he’d come in for the biggest piece of everything as firstborn. But somehow he found out about Mildred. How do you think that happened?”
“It had to be that newspaper article—the same one Frances had. Remember, when we were at Martin’s house, I brought a New Orleans paper inside. Mildred looks just like his mother. He would have seen the resemblance right away, and guessing that he had a sister out there somewhere wouldn’t have been so big a leap to make.”
Beau nodded, understanding Sabine’s logic. “But that still doesn’t explain poisoning you or the car bomb. That was your wine and your car, Sabine.”
“That’s just it,” Sabine said, her voice growing more excited. “That bottle of wine was one Mildred picked up. I’d just gotten it from Mildred the day before. And since her car’s been on the blink, she’s been driving mine. If Martin came to Mudbug to spy on her—”
“He would have thought the car was hers,” Beau finished, and his pulse began to race. “Shit, you’re right. It makes total sense, as much as any of this does. And the break-in at your shop was probably Martin, too. It gave him a shiny new key to your building and access to anything you might have on Mildred.”
“Oh no! I have a master key to the hotel. It’s hanging on a rack in my kitchen with a label on it, plain as day. What a moron! I may as well have opened the door for him myself. And what do you want to bet that the whole dinner was Martin’s idea. Being stuck at the Fortescue estate would have been the perfect alibi for him. If it hadn’t been for Frances digging up dead people, we would never have known he was gone.”
Beau nodded and felt his jaw tighten. It was very slick, very smooth. To have done all the things they imagined, Martin Alford couldn’t be completely sane, but he wasn’t all-out crazy like Frances. He was cunning and clever. Beau slowed as they approached the bridge, praying that Alford had lied and that the water hadn’t risen since the attorney had made his escape. He blew out a breath of relief when he saw the water swirling just underneath the wooden structure.
“He lied,” Sabine said. “Thank God, he lied. Now if we can get to Mildred in time…”
“We’ll get there.” Beau pressed the accelerator halfway to the floor and the truck launched over the bridge and onto the road beyond. “Check the phones. See if we’ve got a signal yet.”
Sabine grabbed Beau’s phone from the seat next to her and looked. “No, damn it.” She pulled her own phone from her pocket and peered at the display. “One bar.”
“Try it. Call 911.”
Beau glanced over as Sabine punched in the numbers and was certain she was holding her breath. The relief on her face let him know right away that the connection had gone through. Sabine handed the phone to Beau. “You explain. I’m going to sound hysterical.”
Beau took the phone and gave the local cops a brief description of the situation at the Fortescue mansion, then explained the situation with Mildred. The dispatcher was stunned, but he promised to get police to the Fortescue mansion and the Mudbug hospital as fast as humanly possible. Beau pressed End and handed the phone back to Sabine. “Call Maryse. Her phone might not pick up in the hospital, but it’s worth a try.”
Sabine took the phone and pressed in Maryse’s number. A couple of seconds later, she shut the phone, the disappointment on her face clear as day. “It went straight to voice mail.”
Beau turned the wheel hard to the right and the truck lurched onto the highway. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” He prayed they weren’t already too late.
Mildred was digging in her duffle bag for her mace when she felt the hair on her neck stand up straight. She looked up and sucked in a breath when she saw the man standing next to her bed holding a gun.
“Hello, Mildred,” the man said, “or should I call you sister?”
Mildred studied the man, but didn’t see anything familiar. “You’re no one to me and I’m fine keeping it that way.”
The man sighed. “I wish it could have stayed that way, but Sabine ruined it for everyone.”
Mildred’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what the man was saying. “What does Sabine have to do with any of this?”
“I was just waiting to stake my claim. I finally had the proof I needed after all these years to prove I was William’s rightful heir. I could have left you alone, and you would never have known. But then Sabine turned up—questioning them about the family and the past, convincing them she was related. It was only a matter of time before they met you, and Catherine saw the truth.”
Mildred’s head swam in confusion. “There was a DNA test. Sabine told me.”
The man shifted the gun in his hand, obviously agitated. “Adam was sterile. I read his medical records. There’s no way he fathered a child. Why the Fortescues lied about the results, I don’t know. But they’ll pay—they’ll all pay for what they did. I should have been firstborn. But that’s something I can fix.”
He leveled the gun at her head and pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket. “You’re going to take a nap, little sister. One you won’t wake up from, I’m afraid.” He stepped closer to the bed, needle poised for injection.
Mildred’s heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst. There was no way she could reach her gun. He’d won, even though she’d tried to prepare. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
A whistling noise echoed through the silence, and her entire body went stiff. She wondered for a moment when the pain would come, but suddenly a heavy weight fell across her. Opening her eyes, she saw the man who claimed to be her brother slumped across her, a single bullet hole through his temple. Raissa stood in the doorway, her gun still drawn, the silencer explaining the whistling.
“Who was he?” Mildred asked.
“Martin Alford,” Raissa said as she stepped over to the bed and checked the man’s neck for a pulse. “The Fortescues’ attorney.”
“Was he my brother?”
“Maybe.”
Mildred slumped back on the bed, her pulse still racing. “How did you know? How did you know to come here?”
“I guessed.”
Mildred stared at Raissa for a moment, then let out a single laugh. “That’s one heck of a guess, Raissa.”
Raissa removed her hand from Alford’s neck and sighed. “I was really hoping I was wrong.”
Mildred pulled her gun out from the covers and sat it on the tray next to the bed. “I’m glad you weren’t wrong. It’s over, and we’re all still alive, and that’s the most important thing.”
Raissa glanced at Mildred’s gun and raised her eyebrows. “You knew someone was after you?”
Mildred shook her head. “I guessed.”
Raissa smiled. “That’s one heck of a guess.”
“Make that two of us who hoped we were wrong.”
“Well, being as we were both right, I guess we need to call the police and get this process started before the nurse comes in to take your temperature and has a heart attack.”
Mildred pulled her legs out from under the covers and climbed out of bed. She stuck her hand out toward Raissa. “Give me your gun.”
Raissa stared at her. “What? Why?”
“Honey, I know what hiding looks like and you’ve been at it a long, long time. Are you going to tell me you want the police poking around into your background?”
Raissa’s eyes widened and Mildred placed one hand on her arm. “I don’t know what you’re running from, and I don’t care. I’ve known you for a long time, and you’re a good woman. I know you have good reasons. You and I both know the police won’t even think twice about my shooting a man who came here to kill me. It will all go away in a matter of weeks.”
“I don’t know…what if they guess…how are you going to explain…”
“I won’t explain much of anything. I’m in a hospital, worried for my life, and on drugs—as far as they know. Give me your gun, Raissa. I figure it’s not registered to you, right? I can always claim I got it from Maryse’s dad years ago. No one will think any different. Bayou men buy and sell this stuff all the time.”
Raissa glanced at Alford then back at Mildred, obviously torn. Finally, she placed her gun in Mildred’s hand. Mildred handed Raissa her own firearm. “I don’t want you without protection, and I figure me toting two guns around might raise some eyebrows. If you wouldn’t mind taking that with you.”
Raissa took the pistol and slipped it in her purse. “Thank you, Mildred. I’ll get this back to you as soon as I replace my old one.”
Mildred waved one hand in dismissal. “Keep it. Mine’s not registered either.” She gave Raissa a wink and the other woman smiled. Mildred lifted the phone, dialed 911, and gave a brief description of the problem. Somehow it didn’t surprise her to find out that Beau Villeneuve had already called the police and they were in route. She hung up the phone with a smile.
“What?” Raissa asked, and Mildred explained to her to Beau had already sent the police.
Raissa smiled and squeezed Mildred’s hand with her own. “The house of cards is crumbling.”
Mildred grinned. “We better get your prints off that gun, get mine on it, and call for the nurse. Tell her someone died in here and it damned sure wasn’t me.” Mildred reached for the phone as Maryse strolled into the room, wrestling with a cardboard coffee tray.
“Sorry it took so long,” Maryse said, still looking down at the tray. “There was an incredible line down there and—” She looked up and saw Mildred standing next to the bed, pistol still in her hand, and the dead man slumped over her hospital bed.
All the color washed out of Maryse’s face and the tray of coffee crashed to the floor, Maryse following closely behind. Mildred looked down at her and shook her head. “Sure, someone tries to kill her and she runs out of the hotel barefoot and not wearing underwear. Sometimes tries to kill me and she’s a shrinking violet.”
Raissa grinned. “Well, maybe we should get ‘Violet’ off the floor before the police get here.”